


We Share the Moonlight in Our Blood

by lucidscreamer



Series: Shadows Over Collinsport [3]
Category: Dark Shadows (1966), Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Amy Jennings is Ryou's mother, Collins Family Feels, Collins Family Secrets, Collinsport, Collinsport the Next Generation, Collinwood, Crack Crossover, Crack Treated Seriously, Curses, Gen, Gothic, Magic, Quentin Collins is Ryou's Great-Great-Grandfather, Ryou is a Collins, Soap Opera, The Old House, Werewolf Curse (Dark Shadows), Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-03-09 07:10:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13476342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucidscreamer/pseuds/lucidscreamer
Summary: Ryou meets some of the current inhabitants of Collinwood.





	1. Chapter 1

Ryou hadn't known what to expect when he received the invitation to Collinwood, the great estate on the hill overlooking the town of Collinsport. It was clear that the Collins family had played a big part in the history of this part of Maine -- their name was everywhere, though the family itself was apparently in decline, its remaining members reclusive and aloof. He was twenty-one years old, and this note (handwritten on thick, expensive stationary and left for him at the front desk) was the first contact he'd had with any member of his mother's family.

Turning the cream colored paper over in his hands, he unfolded the note and read it for the fifth time in the last ten minutes. It was a few simple sentences requesting his attendance for luncheon (and seeing that word rather than the more casual "lunch" still made his mouth twist in an expression that couldn't decide whether it wanted to be a smirk or a frown) today at 1 p.m., at the grand estate. It was signed simply "Quentin Collins."

The note had arrived an hour ago, shortly after Ryou had dragged himself from his bed at the Collinsport Inn, and he still hadn't made up his mind whether he was going to accept the invitation.

On the one hand, his curiosity was piqued and he was interested in seeing the house where his mother had spent a part of her childhood. The other hand held his reservations: he literally knew no one in this place and would be walking cold into a situation where he didn't know what was expected of him or what might happen. He was probably being too paranoid for the circumstances, but if life in Domino City had taught him anything, it was that you should never take things at face value. If a children's card game could nearly kill you, who knew what might happen at a "luncheon" in an isolated house with perfect strangers?

He sighed, turning the note over again. There were no instructions for getting to Collinwood; Quentin probably presumed that anyone in town could give Ryou directions to the estate. No doubt he was right. Ryou could ask at the front desk or at the diner... or most likely any random passerby on the street could tell him how to get there. _If_ he decided to go. Which he hadn't, not yet.

Rising to his feet, he stuffed the note into his pocket and reached for his lightweight jacket. He would go and find something for breakfast first. Maybe by the time he had finished his second cup of tea he would have made up his mind if he was going to ask someone how to get to Collinwood.

　

o0o

　

Leaving the inn, Ryou strolled around town and took in the sights that Collinsport had to offer. It was built right on the water and its history as a port town was obvious. Down by the docks, he could see fishing boats heading out to sea beneath a brightening sky. There was a cannery in the distance (it, too, bore the name "Collins" on the side of the massive building that housed the factory). The air was sharp and crisp, and smelled faintly of the sea.

The inn-keeper had given Ryou directions to a nearby diner, within easy walking distance. He turned his steps in that direction and some came upon a quaint, low building with white painted walls and cheerily painted flowerboxes that now held only straggly weeds. He went inside.

He wouldn't have called the diner crowded, but there were a surprising number of people sitting at the counter and at a few of the tables for such an early hour. Most of the heads turned to watch the stranger walk up to the counter.

A dark-haired woman greeted him with the kind of smile all good waitresses seemed to know. "Good morning. Would you like to see a menu?"

"Yes, thank you. And a cup of tea, if you have it."

"Sure." She placed a menu on the counter and then bustled off to fuss with the hot water and tea bags. When she returned, she set a steaming white mug in front of him. "Sugar and sweetener's in the caddy. Anything else? We don't get a lot of call for hot tea."

"Oh, um. Some milk?" He went back to reading the menu. By the time she returned with a small carton of milk, he had decided on pancakes and a side of bacon.

The breakfast turned out to be quite good, and he thanked the waitress with a smile when she stopped to offer him more tea. "No problem, hun. Can I get you anything else?"

"Directions to Collinwood?"

The smile slid off her face. "Why would you want to go up there?"

"Oh, um." He cast around for an excuse, not having expected the veiled hostility. "Just curious. I hear the house is very impressive."

"Sure, if you like that sort of thing." Her tone implied that she didn't, and didn't understand anyone who did. "It's big, anyway. Kind of creepy, if you ask me."

"Nobody asked ya, Darla." The gray-haired man two stools down from Ryou's waggled his coffee cup at her. "How 'bout ya quit bumpin' yer gums and gimme a refill?"

Darla rolled her eyes, but retrieved the coffee pot and refilled his cup. "You ever been up to Collinwood, Marty?"

"Nah, got no call to be goin' up there." He stirred creamer into his coffee. "Never wanted to, neither."

"Do you know the Collins family?" Ryou asked, directing the question to the room at large and hoping someone would answer.

"Seen 'em around town, like anybody else," Marty said, waving one wrinkled hand dismissively. "My sister used to know someone who worked for 'em, was their housekeeper for years."

Darla frowned. "You never told me that."

"Was you wantin' to know?" Marty slurped his coffee. "Don't see as it matters, she passed on awhile back."

"Oh, you mean Mrs. Johnson!" Darla nodded. "Yeah, I remember my mom saying she used to talk to her sometimes. Not much, though. I think she must've been real secretive about the Collinses."

"The kinda things they supposedly get up to, wouldn't surprise me."

That piqued Ryou's interest. "What sort of things?"

Marty squinted at him. "You new in town, son?"

"Yes." He leaned toward the older man, trying to project innocent curiosity. "What sort of things were you talking about?"

"Oh, the usual things rich folk with too much time on their hands and not enough sense get up to."

Darla snickered. "Cheating on their spouses, the occasional love-child, arsenic in the morning coffee."

"You think you're jokin'," Marty said, shaking his head. "Don't suppose you remember the time ol' Roger Collins drove his car off the damn cliff. Sure, the man liked to drink, but there were rumors someone cut his brake-line."

Both Darla and Ryou gaped at him. Darla recovered first. "Are you saying someone tried to murder Roger Collins?"

Marty shrugged, and made an elaborately casual show of drinking his coffee. Assured he had their full attention, he said, "That wasn't the only time somebody nearly died -- or full-out did die! -- at Collinwood."

"Now you're the one whose joking!" Darla said.

"Nope. The stories I could tell ya..." Marty glanced at the clock above the beverage station behind her and slugged back the last of his coffee. "Some other time, though. I gotta hit the road. See ya tomorrow, Darla."

"Sure, Marty."

Ryou watched the old man leave. When he looked around, he saw that most of the other diner patrons had finished their meals and left, leaving him alone with Darla and one other, a well-dressed woman seated in a booth by the window. The woman looked up from the book she was reading and favored him with a raised eyebrow. Ryou looked hurriedly away.

Darla smirked at him. "You here alone? In town, I mean."

"Yes. I'm, um... I came to visit my mother's grave. She's buried in Eagle Hill Cemetery."

"Oh! I'm so sorry--"

"It's all right." Ryou pretended his tea needed more milk. "It's been years since she died. I just... never got the chance to visit until now."

"Here, let me get you some more tea." Darla bustled off to the beverage station and came back in a few minutes with a fresh mug. "Here you go, hun."

"Thank you." He took it just to be polite. "Can you give me directions to Collinwood? I really would love to see it. My mother told me a bit about it when I was younger."

"She was from Collinsport?"

"She lived here for a time, when she was a girl."

Humming a bit under her breath, Darla picked up a cloth and wiped the counter. "I guess it won't hurt anything. Just don't expect the family to take you in for a tour. The Collinses keep to themselves."

He smiled. "Of course."

　

o0o

　

Armed with the map that Darla had drawn for him on a paper napkin, Ryou stepped back out into the sunshine. The cool air had warmed a bit while he was in the diner, but was still brisk enough to make him glad for his jacket and the knitted scarf that he wrapped around his neck. He let his touch linger on the scarf, feeling the uneven stitches and remembering when Amane had given it to him. It was her first knitting project and she had been extremely proud of her accomplishment. His heart ached whenever he thought about the sweater she had been working on when she died, a far more complex project that now would never be finished.

He had made it only as far as the shop next door to the diner when he heard someone calling out behind him. Turning, he saw that it was the woman from the diner, her book tucked under one arm as she waved to him.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

She smiled as she caught up to him. "I believe it is _I_ who may be able to assist _you_ , young man."

His eyebrows shot up. "Oh?"

"I couldn't help overhearing your conversation before." Her pale eyes were considering as she studied him. "You're interested in the Collins family?"

"I might be."

"Then, I might be able to tell you about them." She gestured for him to follow as she resumed walking and, after a slight hesitation, he did.

"Do you know the family well?"

"You could say that," she said, with a subtle laugh. The sunlight caught the edges of her blonde hair, framing her face in a golden halo. "I've known them for many years. But I don't know you at all, Mister--?"

"Oh, how rude of me for not introducing myself. I'm Ryou Bakura."

"I think we shall become great friends, Ryou." She smiled again, bright and sharp. "You may call me Angelique."

　

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryou meets some of the current inhabitants of Collinwood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder that this is AU for both Dark Shadows and Yu-Gi-Oh.

After spending an informative half an hour with Angelique, who seemed only too eager to answer his questions about the Collins family (though with a sly coyness that set off a few alarm bells in the back of his head), Ryou had returned to the inn for his rented car. Following the directions Darla had given him, he had no problems finding Collinwood.

Now, he stood before the sprawling old mansion (forty rooms, according to Angelique) and wondered if he was going to regret having come here. His curiosity was piqued, however, and he knew he would never be content if he left it unsatisfied. He would always wonder about this part of his family, his heritage. His mind had been made up long ago, when he first decided to come to Collinsport.

He had to know.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the imposing double doors and waited. Just as he was beginning to wonder if anyone had heard the door knocker, one of the doors swung open to reveal a middle-aged woman with her mousy brown hair pulled back in a severe bun. She eyed him like he was something smelly she'd found on the bottom of her shoe.

"Yes? Can I help you?" The curl of her upper lip suggested that the correct answer was "no, thank you."

Ryou steeled his resolve. "I'm expected for lunch...eon with Mr. Quentin Collins."

She grimaced. "I suppose you'd better come in then. I'll let Mr. Collins know his guest has arrived."

Shaking her head, she pivoted on her heel and stalked off without another word. Ryou supposed he was lucky she hadn't left him standing on the doorstep. Left to his own devices, he peered around the foyer, taking everything in.

Dark wood paneling and a flagstone floor made the room seem formal and not very welcoming. Tall iron torchiers stood on each side of the wide front doors. Opposite them, a second set of double doors guarded the entry into the house proper. On Ryou's right, a wooden staircase led up to a narrow landing beneath stained glass windows that, despite the bright sunlight outside, somehow contrived to barely lighten the gloomy atmosphere. There was a large portrait of a stern looking man, probably a Collins ancestor on one wall. With nothing better to do, Ryou wandered over to give it a closer look.

The man in the portrait had a sallow complexion, as if drained of blood, piercing dark eyes, and dark hair. His clothing was old-fashioned in the extreme, lending credence to Ryou's conjecture that this was a Collins ancestor. The ruffled cuffs, fancy cravat, and silver-headed cane made him think 18th-century or earlier (Ryou wasn't exactly an expert on historical clothing, but he had seen a few costume dramas in his day; Amane had been a big fan of the genre). A distinctive signet ring graced the man's forefinger, where his hand rested on the curve of the wolf's head that formed the handle of the cane.

"I see you've found Barnabas," said a feminine voice from behind him.

Ryou started, not having heard anyone approaching. Turning, he saw an older woman, her blonde hair fading gracefully to white and her slim body straight and tall despite her age, standing at the foot of the stairs. She was dressed in an expensive looking silk pantsuit and tasteful gold jewelry. She gave him a tight-lipped smile as she moved to join him before the portrait.

"Barnabas Collins," she said, with a gesture at the painting. "A distinguished ancestor and the son of the man who built this moldy old pile."

"Thank you for telling me." His genuiness seemed to catch her off-guard. He extended his hand. "I'm Ryou Bakura."

As if on auto-pilot, she shook his hand. "Carolyn Stoddard." Then she appeared to make a connection from his name to his presence in her house, and she added, "You're the guest Cousin Quentin is expecting!"

"I suppose I am." He ducked his head, feeling a bit embarrassed and not entirely sure why.

Carolyn nodded and her smile held a hint more warmth. "Well, then we should let him know you're here."

"I think someone's already gone to do so..."

"Mrs. Garrett?" She wrinkled her nose, for a moment the mischievous expression making her look like a much younger woman. "We'll be lucky if she actually finds him to tell him, then. Come, we'll get you settled in the drawing room and then I'll find Quentin myself."

"Oh, I shouldn't want to be a bother--"

"Don't be silly." Her hand on his elbow steered him toward the second set of double doors. "Just through here..."

A moment later and Ryou found himself seated before a large fireplace in which a cozy fire burned, staring wide-eyed at the doors through which Carolyn Stoddard had vanished on her self-appointed mission to locate Quentin Collins. The woman was clearly a force of nature; he barely remembered consenting to follow her before she had had him seated on one of the sofas, offered him a drink (which he declined), and swept back out the doors, closing them behind her.

Left to his own devices once more, he shifted uncomfortably on the sofa and dared to take a look around at his new surroundings. If the foyer had been impressive, it was nothing compared to the drawing room. Barnabas' father had apparently subscribed to the 'large and oppressive' school of architecture.

The theme of dark wood and soaring ceilings had been carried over into the drawing room. One wall was dominated by the fireplace, a marble monstrosity capped by a heavy wooden mantle which held silver candlesticks and other colonial looking bric-a-brac. A large oil landscape painting in somber tones completed the picture. On the short wall to the left of the double doors sat a heavy wooden writing desk, definitely antique, which held a few thick and dusty books, an ancient telephone (it had a cord!), and more bric-a-brac. The remaining furniture echoed the desk: all dark, heavy pieces that looked as if they had been fashionable about a century ago, which was possibly when they had been brought into the room. On the wall opposite the fireplace, a tall console held a tray of crystal decanters and glasses. Behind the sofa he was perched on, a piano sat in front of tall windows that reached nearly to the ceiling on either side of a pair of French doors. From his seat, he could just make out a hint of stone terrace and dreary winter garden peeping through between the heavy drapes.

Just as he was trying to decide if he were brave enough to get up and have a look outside, the double doors opened with a faint creak of unoiled hinges and an elderly man with a cane stepped into the room. He fixed Ryou with a distracted, and rather irritated, glare from light-colored eyes.

"And who might you be?" he asked without preamble in a clipped, patrician accent.

Ryou, who had risen automatically out of the politeness drilled into him as a child, took an involuntary step back at the vitriol in the other man's voice.

"Erm, Ryou, sir," he managed to stammer out. "Ryou Bakura."

"What sort of name is that?" the man snapped, his gimlet glare intensifying. The hand holding the cane tightened so much that the knuckles turned white from his grip.

"I... erm, I..." Ryou floundered, wondering if the man was going to take a swipe at him with the cane. He certainly seemed to be considering it, if his thunderous expression were any indicator.

"Come on, boy, speak up!" He stalked toward Ryou, managing to look quite threatening despite his advanced age. "Who are you and what're you doing in my drawing room?"

"Uncle Roger!" Carolyn swept back into the room through the open doors, one hand coming up to rest on the man's arm and steer him gently away from Ryou. "Is that any way to speak to a guest?"

" _Guest_?" Roger sounded revolted by the very suggestion. "I certainly didn't invite him."

"No, but Cousin Quentin did."

Some of the tension bleeding out of his posture, Roger snorted. "Well, that explains it."

Carolyn patted his arm. "Now, Uncle Roger, there's no need to be rude." She glanced at Ryou, that tight smile re-appearing on her lips. "Mr. Bakura, I see that you've met my uncle, Roger Collins. You'll have to forgive his manners, or lack of them. He's in a bit of a mood, it seems."

The old man swatted at her with his free hand. "Don't scold me! I remember when you were a moody teenager, Kitten. Your mother used to despair of your manners on a daily basis."

Ryou nearly boggled at the idea of anyone daring to call Carolyn Stoddard "kitten," but she took it in stride. Maybe she was accustomed to the nickname.

Ignoring Roger, she focused her attention on Ryou. "Mrs. Garrett has informed Cousin Quentin of your arrival. He'll be joining us, shortly."

Roger snorted again and wandered toward the bar set up that Ryou had noticed earlier. Carolyn pursed her lips at him but said nothing as Roger poured himself a few fingers of dark liquid from one of the decanters. He sipped at it before fixing Ryou with a judgmental gaze.

"Exactly how do you know our cousin, Mr. Bakura?"

"Oh, I... erm, I don't, actually." He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling incredibly foolish and out of his depth. "I received a note from him this morning, asking me to have lunch with him."

Now, both Roger and Carolyn were watching him with narrowed eyes.

"Are you in the habit of accepting luncheon invitations from perfect strangers, Mr. Bakura?" Roger asked sourly.

 _I am when I want an excuse to visit the house where my mother spent part of her childhood_ , Ryou thought, but managed just not to say. Aloud, he said, "It seemed quite kind of him. And I admit that I was hoping to speak to some of the family."

"Oh?" Carolyn arched one perfectly plucked eyebrow at him. "And why is that?"

Taking a deep breath, Ryou steeled himself for the confession he was about to make. He never got the chance, however, as another voice stole the words from his lips.

"He's Amy's son."

　

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luncheon at Collinwood -- and talk about family.

Everyone turned to stare at the young man standing in the doorway. Roger was the first to break the silence.

"What do you mean, Amy's son?" he demanded, slamming his highball glass down on the console hard enough to rattle the decanters on their mirrored tray. "Explain yourself at once, Quentin."

So, this was Quentin Collins. Ryou had been expecting someone older, not this man who looked barely a handful of years older than himself. Quentin looked nothing like his cousins, with a thick mane of brown hair, hipster sideburns, and intense eyes. His attire, though casual spoke of quality; Ryou was glad he had given in to the impulse to wear one of his better outfits today. He still felt out of place, but far less than if he were attired in worn Converse and jeans.

Quentin merely smirked at Roger before turning his attention fully on Ryou. His gaze swept over Ryou in obvious judgment. "You must favor your father," was the verdict. "Though I do detect a hint of your mother in your eyes."

"Amy's son..." Carolyn's voice was soft and filled with something Ryou couldn't quite decipher. She pressed her hand to her mouth, eyes wide as she took him in anew. "Oh, my."

Grumbling, Roger wandered over to one of the chairs facing the sofa and sat down heavily, as if his legs had lost the will to hold him up any longer. He gestured expansively with his glass. "I suppose you're here to see if you can insinuate yourself into the family, all in the name of money."

The sneered words pierced Ryou's heart like a blade. "No, sir. I just..." He swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. "I only recently found out that my mother was from around here and I..."

"Don't listen to him, Mr. Bakura," Carolyn said, interrupting Ryou's stumbling explanation. "Uncle Roger was born a cynic. He believes the worst of absolutely everyone."

"And people rarely disappoint my low expectations of them." Roger emptied the last of his drink and gazed mournfully into the glass.

Carolyn plucked it from his hand and set it on the table beside his chair. "That's enough of that." She turned to face the newcomer. "Cousin Quentin, we'll leave you to your guest."

With firm but clearly affectionate prodding, she managed to herd Roger out of the drawing room with her, Roger grumbling all the way. Quentin watched them go and then smiled at Ryou. "I've asked Mrs. Garrett to serve our luncheon in the breakfast room. If you'll follow me?"

Finding himself at a loss for something to say, Ryou just nodded and followed Quentin Collins deeper into the gloomy mansion.

　

o0o

 

The "breakfast room" turned out to be an informal dining room with large windows overlooking a well-tended lawn. Like the rest of the house that Ryou had seen so far, it was filled with antique furniture and paintings and other home decor flotsam. The furniture here was lighter than what he'd seen in the drawing room, painted rather than stained wood, and of a more delicate looking construction.

Quentin waved him to a seat at the round table, where places had been laid for two diners. Ryou sat with his back to the windows, leaving the other place for Quentin.

"Thank you for the invitation to Collinwood," Ryou said. "I have to admit it caught me by surprise."

Quentin looked up from where he had been fidgeting with his elaborately folded napkin and met Ryou's questioning gaze. There was a complicated expression on his face, one that Ryou found impossible to read.

"You caught me by surprise as well," Quentin said. "I had thought I would have to search for you, and then you turned up practically on my doorstep. Of course I had to invite you to Collinwood."

Suspicion and foreboding stretched icy fingers along Ryou's spine. "You were looking for me? Why?"

"You're Amy's son." The words seemed to hold more weight than their simplicity would suggest. "How old are you, Ryou?"

The question caught Ryou off-guard, so much so that he didn't even think to object to this stranger's use of his given name. He blurted out the answer without stopping to consider if he should. "I'm twenty-one today, actually."

"Then I wish you a happy birthday." Something like pain flickered across Quentin's face. He lowered his gaze to his hands, which had clenched into fists around his napkin, twisting it into a crumpled mess. "I knew your mother, you know. When she was a child here at Collinwood."

"You knew her?" Anticipation swept other concerns from Ryou's head. This was what he had come here for, what he had hoped for when he drove all the way to this isolated part of Maine's coast: to learn more about his mother.

"I knew her -- and your uncle Chris, as well."

Chris? Ryou had been vaguely aware of his mother's brothers -- twins, Tom and Chris Jennings -- though she rarely spoke of them. His anticipation increased; here was a chance to discover information about the parts of his family that he had never known.

Before he could frame one of the many questions clamoring for his attention, the housekeeper stalked into the room with a serving cart and began to set food on the table.

"Thank you, Mrs. Garrett," Quentin said, after she almost dripped soup in his lap while setting the bowl in front of him. "Just leave the cart. We'll serve ourselves."

"Hmph." She fixed him with a disapproving look, but backed away from the table. "If that's what you want, Mr. Collins."

Quentin waited until she had stomped back out of the room before turning an apologetic glance on Ryou. "Sorry about her. Frankly, I sometimes wonder why my cousins keep her on."

"Tell me about my mother. Please." Ryou didn't care about Mrs. Garrett -- or the food. The hunger he felt had nothing to do with his stomach and everything to do with the aching emptiness in his heart where his family should be.

"Of course."

Ryou knew that he ate, because the food that Quentin set before him dwindled on his plate, but he couldn't have said how any of it tasted. He was too absorbed in drinking up every word that Quentin spoke to him -- about Amy, about his uncles. Every anecdote was fascinating, no matter how small, as was every fact, no matter how trivial.

Finally, the food was gone and Quentin was watching him with a somber, thoughtful look on his face that seemed at odds with their conversation. He seemed to come to a decision, after a moment of silence, and said, "I know you have a room at the Collinsport Inn, but I'd like for you to spend the remainder of your stay here at Collinwood."

Ryou's eyes widened. "Oh, I couldn't impose--"

"No, no. I won't here any excuses." Quentin tossed his napkin aside as he rose. "It's no imposition, we've plenty of room. And I insist. There's still a great deal I have to tell you about your family, Ryou."

"But... You don't even know me."

"A circumstance that I would like to correct." Quentin offered him a small smile. "We are family, Ryou, no matter how distant."

Ryou started, not having arrived at that conclusion, despite the obvious clues. He gaped at Quentin. "Family..."

"Yes." For a second, that strange look of pain shadowed Quentin's eyes again. "We... share a common Collins ancestor. I, uh, I would very much like the opportunity to tell you more -- about that and other things -- if you'll give me the chance."

"I would like that."

The shadows cleared from Quentin's expression. "Then stay here, at Collinwood. I'll have Mrs. Garrett prepare a room for you."

Ryou hesitated. "Are you certain that Mr. Collins won't mind? He didn't seem to like me very much."

"Roger doesn't like anyone." Quentin grinned. "Don't worry. I'll handle Cousin Roger. And I can assure you that Carolyn won't mind. In fact, I think she'd be rather cross with me if I let you return to the Inn without offering you a place here."

"Well..."

"Ryou." Quentin placed a hand on Ryou's shoulder. "This is where you belong."

Warmth settled in Ryou's stomach. It had been a long time since he truly felt as if he had a place to belong. He didn't know if this could be that place, but even just the offer of it felt good. He wanted to accept. "If you're sure?"

"I am." With a final, gentle squeeze, Quentin let his hand fall back to his side. "Go and get your things from the Inn. When you return, I'll give you a tour of the old place."

"Thank you," Ryou said, meaning for far more than just the lunch or even the offer of a room.

Quentin seemed to understand. The welcome in his parting smile warmed Ryou all the way back into town.

 


	4. Chapter 4

On his way out of the Collinsport Inn with his bags in hands, Ryou ran into Angelique. Literally. She accepted his apologies and helped him collect his luggage, smiling in a way that didn't touch her wide green eyes.

"Are you leaving us so soon?" she asked, handing him his shaving kit.

"Only the inn." He hefted his bags, glancing away from her considering gaze. "I've been invited to stay at Collinwood."

" _Really_?" Somehow, she made it sound as if she had won a prize, all but clapping her hands in glee. "And however did you manage that?"

Not entirely sure of the answer himself, Ryou shrugged. "Quentin Collins asked me to stay there as his guest. He... Apparently, he knew my mother when she lived there as a child."

"Oh, how delightful for you." She laid one hand delicately on his forearm and leaned closer. "Tell me... Have you met any of the rest of the family?"

He nodded. "Roger Collins and Carolyn Stoddard."

"No one else?" The question was a little too casual, though Ryou had no idea what she was insinuating.

"Only the housekeeper."

"Well." She straightened and turned back to the street. "Perhaps you will meet the rest of the family soon."

Ryou thought she meant someone in particular, but decided he didn't feel comfortable asking her who she was talking about. "Perhaps I will," was all he said instead. He resettled his luggage in his arms. "I should be going..."

"Of course!" She fixed that unsettling, intense look on him again. "Don't let me keep you. And I do hope you find your stay at Collinwood... enlightening."

He watched her saunter away, uncertain what to make of the conversation. After a moment, he shook his head and resumed walking to his rental car. The idea of staying at Collinwood filled him with a confusing mixture of anticipation and dread. He was looking forward to speaking with Quentin again, hoping that the man would have more stories about Amy and Chris (unfortunately, Quentin seemed to know very little about Tom) to share with him. He was not looking forward to a repeat of his encounter with Roger Collins or with Mrs. Garrett, but he thought even that would be a small price to pay for hearing more about his mother.

The drive went quicker the second time, since he knew where he was going and only had to consult his written directions once to make sure he didn't take a wrong turn. For all that it was isolated, the Collins estate was too prominent to be easily missed. This time, Ryou noticed a second house, set back in the woods and further from the cliffs that dropped off into the ocean at the edge of Collinwood's grounds. He paid it little mind, though, his thoughts drifting ahead to wonder what his reception would be like when he entered Collinwood as a houseguest and not just a visitor.

To his surprise, Quentin met him at the door. Apparently the man really was eager to have him stay. He took the heavier of Ryou's bags from him and led the way up the stairs to the second floor.

"I hope you don't mind, but I've had you placed in the same wing as me," Quentin said as they walked. "I thought it would be for the best. That way if you need anything, you've only to find me and ask."

"That's fine." Ryou figured as long as he kept out of Roger's way, he'd be all right. "I may need a map in order to find my way around, though. This is the largest house I've ever been in."

Quentin laughed. "Our ancestors were firm believers in the axiom that nothing succeeds like excess."

"'More is more'?" Ryou quipped.

"Exactly." The smirk on Quentin's face matched the one Ryou could feel on his own lips.

A few more minutes walking, and what felt like endless corridors, brought them to a hall lined with heavy doors made of dark wood. Quentin gestured to one at the end of the hallway. "That's mine. And I thought we would put you in here--"

He moved past Ryou to open an identical door on the opposite side of the hall. The room beyond was large and had the same air of faded elegance as the rest of the mansion. One wall held a marble fireplace over which hung the portrait of some dour Collins ancestor. Dominating the room was a four poster bed made of some dark wood and hung with heavy draperies. The remaining furniture was equally as imposing, all clearly well-cared-for antiques. Ryou hesitated on the threshold, once again reminded of how out of place he was amidst all this luxury.

"Don't let it intimidate you," Quentin said, seeing his hesitation. "You belong here as much as any of us."

"How can you say that?" Ryou wondered. "I'm not..."

"Not to make the family sound like a cult, but--" and here Quentin gave him a michievous smirk. "-- you're one of us."

Almost against his will, Ryou laughed. The sound startled him and he realized that it had been a long time since he had heard himself laugh. If nothing else, coming here, getting away from Domino City, had been a good decision.

"Did you know... My mother gave me the middle name 'Quentin'," he said after a moment.

The amusement on Quentin's face softened. "Your middle name is 'Quentin'? Did she name you after me?"

"I think she must have." It had always been something of a mystery to Ryou, since the name obviously came from her side of the family (there were no other Bakuras named 'Quentin', that was certain). "She never told me, so I suppose I can't say for sure, but I don't know where else she could have gotten it. And don't believe it's a mere coincidence."

"Well, then I must say that I am flattered. And honored." He made a little gesture that was almost a bow. Then he shook himself, clapping his hands and saying, "Enough of this sentimentality for now. Leave your unpacking for later and let's embark on that tour I promised you."

Eager to see more of the estate, Ryou agreed.

　

o0o

　

The house was huge. At least forty rooms, not all of which they covered on what Quentin jokingly referred to as the "nickel tour." With a promise that they would see the rest of the mansion later, Quentin steered Ryou outside for a look at the expansive grounds.

As Ryou had noted on the drive up, Collinwood sat near the rocky cliffs that dropped off into the Atlantic. The sounds of waves crashing against the shore was audible for quite some distance in the quiet of the isolated estate. Gray clouds had moved in to blot out the sun, threatening a storm for later. In fact, the sun -- what was visible of it through the clouds -- seemed lower in the sky than Ryou thought it should be. A quick glance at his watch informed him that it was later in the day than he'd realized. They must have spent longer at lunch, and touring the house, than he had thought.

Quentin took him around the grounds, showing him the view from the cliffs and pointing out a walking path through the thick woods that grew behind the house. There was a greenhouse in the distance and a small cottage that apparently was the residence of the groundskeeper. Ryou privately thought that the groundskeeper must work himself (or herself; Quentin hadn't specified) ragged just maintaining the lawns. He certainly wouldn't want the job.

But that thought reminded him that he wanted _a_ job, if not that one. He wasn't sure how long he planned to remain in Collinsport, but sooner or later (wherever he settled), he was going to need to find work. He had some money saved up thanks to a small inheritance left to him by his mother, but he felt guilty whenever he even thought about touching it. He remembered Roger Collins' sneered accusation of coming here looking for a hand-out from the family and determined that he would show the man just how wrong he had been. Ryou didn't want the Collinses' money. He didn't even want the money his mother had left to him. He just wanted somewhere to belong, and maybe a family to belong to.

His feet had been carrying him forward on autopilot, so it was with a bit of a start that he realized that Quentin had led them into the woods. It was darker beneath the trees, even though their limbs were mostly bare, reaching toward the leaden sky like skeletal claws. He stumbled to a halt, peering up at a sky that had grown even blacker with the approaching storm, and asked, "Shouldn't we head back? It looks like it's going to rain very soon."

As if on cue, large raindrops began to patter down through the trees, striking him on the face and making him duck his head to avoid getting hit in the eye.

Quentin grimaced at the sky and shook his head. "We're closer to the Old House. We can wait out the storm there."

"The Old House?" Ryou could hear the capital letters.

"Come on, I'll show you." Quentin resumed walking, clearly expecting Ryou to follow.

Not certain how to get back to Collinwood, Ryou had no choice but to trot after Quentin, whose long legs were eating up the ground as he strode along the narrow path winding between the trees. As Ryou caught up to him, Quentin resumed his duties as tour guide, saying, "The Old House was the first home of the Collins family. Collinwood was built by Joshua Collins in 1795 and, after the family moved into 'the new house', the Old House was largely abandoned."

"If it's abandoned, will it be safe for us to go inside?"

"Don't worry. Barnabas restored the Old House in the '60s and his branch of the family has kept it up ever since."

"Barnabas Collins?" Ryou's eyebrows shot up. "Like the man in the portrait?"

"Exactly like." Quentin's enigmatic smile seemed to hold some private amusement. "His descendants bear a strong resemblance to him and many of them have shared the name, as does the current owner of the Old House. Though I'm afraid Cousin Barnabas won't be there to greet us, as he's often away during the day. He won't mind if we wait out the storm in his drawing room, however."

"Are you sure?" Ryou felt it would be impolite to simply barge into the man's house when he wasn't even at home, but he supposed that Quentin knew better than he did. After all, the man was Quentin's cousin.

"Oh, I'm sure. Cousin Barnabas and I have an... understanding."

Not knowing how to interpret that, Ryou simply nodded.

A few minutes more of brisk walking brought them within sight of a large, white house with towering columns across the front. Though smaller than Collinwood, it was clearly a grand house in its own right. The rain was coming down harder now, so Ryou saw little more of the facade than those massive columns before he and Quentin were dashing up to the front door.

Quentin banged on the knocker. A moment later, the door opened a sliver and a scowling face glared at them from the opening.

"Oh, it's _you_." All that was visible of the man in the doorway was a shock of red hair and squinting, suspicious eyes in a gaunt face. "What d'ya want, Mr. Collins?"

"Cheerful as always, eh, Bruno?" Quentin crowded into the doorway, forcing the smaller man to give way. "I want inside. It's raining cats and dogs out here, and I'm already soaked to the bone."

"Mr. Collins ain't here, y'know. Ya wanna see him, you should come back later." Despite his protests, Bruno reluctantly let Quentin into the foyer, then balked again at Ryou, who he had apparently not noticed before. "Who the hell's _this_ , then?"

"A friend of mine." Quentin's tone was sharp and brooked no arguments. "Let him in out of the rain, you lout."

Grudgingly, the man did as ordered. When Quentin grabbed Ryou by the elbow and towed him into the drawing room, Bruno followed.

"I hope you're not wanting anythin', 'cause I ain't got nothin' to give ya."

"Bruno, you're a ray of sunshine in an otherwise gray world." The sarcasm seemed to fly over the man's head or else he was very good at pretending it did. Either way, he gave no sign of noticing, even when Quentin returned his sour expression with interest. "Run along and attend to your duties. My friend and I will sit by the fire and dry out."

Bruno trudged toward the stairs, muttering something about finding them some towels before they ruined his clean floors.

"Housekeeping must be a terrible job," Ryou blurted out before he could think better of it. When Quentin raised both eyebrows at him, Ryou added, "Well, I don't actually know that many housekeepers, but the two I've met here so far have definitely not seemed happy in their work."

That startled a chuckle out of Quentin. "Their predecessors were no better, I'm afraid. In fact, both Mrs. Johnson and her nephew were infamous in their unhappiness with their chosen careers."

That sounded as if Quentin had known them personally. Ryou moved closer to the fireplace, warming his hands in front of the blaze, and asked, "Have you lived here long?"

"Off and on." Quentin copied Ryou and held his hands out to warm them by the fire. "I was born in Collinsport, but I've traveled extensively, often for years at a time."

"Oh? My father travels quite a bit for his work." Before his mother and Amane died, Ryou had dreamed of following in his father's footsteps -- at least, as far as being a world traveler. "I was born in England, but we moved to Domino City when I was a teenager. This is my first real experience with travel, though."

"Collinsport isn't exactly a tourist hot-spot."

Before Ryou could respond, Bruno reappeared with a towel for each of them. His already cold expression turned downright glacial when he saw the water they had dripped on the floor. He scowled at Quentin, who was blithely toweling the rain from his hair and pretending not to notice.

"I'll just go fetch a mop, then," Bruno muttered, and slunk off again, this time through the louvered doors beside the fireplace.

Deciding it was best to ignore the man's attitude, Ryou dried himself as best he could. His wet clothing clung uncomfortably to his body and made him think longingly of a hot shower and change of attire, both of which would have to wait until his return to Collinwood. He glanced up from mopping ineffectually at his trousers to find Quentin watching him.

"So," Quentin began in a tone too casual to actually be casual. "Where exactly is Domino City? I don't believe I've heard of it before."

"No, I wouldn't expect you to have... Unless you're a fan of Duel Monsters, of course."

Quentin's eyebrows shot up. "'Duel Monsters'?"

"It's a competitive card game. There are tournaments -- Domino City has been the host of quite a few world-class competitions over the last few years." Ryou shook his head, remembering how many of those tournaments had had something more at stake than a mere title or trophy. "I've been in several tournaments, myself. I've never taken the top prize, but I have finished quite high in the rankings."

Despite the circumstances of his participation in those tournaments, Ryou felt he was allowed to have some measure of pride in his accomplishments -- at least the ones that didn't involve stealing souls or attempted regicide.

"So, you've made a name for yourself in these competitions?"

"I suppose." Ryou shrugged. "Not as much as my friend Yugi has. He's known as the 'King of Games,' and is a world-champion duelist. Or, he was. I believe he's decided to retire from active dueling."

Quentin frowned. "Dueling? I thought you said it was a card game?"

"Well, yes. But it is called _Duel_ Monsters, after all. The players are called duelists and they face off against one another in card duels." It was almost instinctive to reach for the card case he used to wear on his belt. It wasn't there, of course. Since he had returned the Millennium Ring to the pharaoh, Ryou had avoided most things Duel Monsters related. "The game was created by Maximillion Pegasus, based on images found in an ancient Egyptian tomb."

For some reason, Quentin's shoulders seemed to stiffen at hearing that -- and Ryou's attention sharpened accordingly. Something about that description had triggered a reaction. Ryou's hard-won paranoia was telling him to pay attention to it.

"Do you know Mr. Pegasus?" Ryou asked, thinking that might be the cause of Quentin's sudden tension.

"No, no." Quentin waved the suggestion away with a careless gesture. "I was just surprised to hear that the game has its roots in Egypt. I... spent some time there, when I was younger." He tossed his wet towel onto the bannister. "So did one of my ancestors, also named Quentin Collins, back in the late 1800s. I guess you could say that a fascination for ancient Egypt runs in the family."

Now Ryou was the one drawing himself up, stiff and on edge. Given his experiences, he wasn't willing to accept any connection his new-found family might have with ancient Egypt as simply coincidence. He managed to form a weak smile. "Oh, yes? My father has spent a lot of time in Egypt, as well, for his work."

Quentin grinned. "He ever bring you a souvenir?"

Ryou felt the smile drop off his face. His hand rose of its own volition to rub at his chest, as he felt the phantom pain of sharp metal points digging into his flesh. He remembered the harsh, alien voice in his head, and the terror of being locked inside his own mind, helpless, while the Spirit of the Ring used his body to hurt the people around him...

Ryou shook himself, forcing the memories back. Belatedly, he realized that Quentin was regarding him with concern. "Once. It... I don't have it anymore."

"Are you all right, Ryou?" Quentin's brow furrowed, the frown deepening as his gaze slipped down to Ryou's hands.

Following Quentin's gaze, Ryou realized that his hands were shaking. He pressed them together, trying to force them to stop. "Fine. I'm fine."

"Are you cold? Come closer to the fire--" Without waiting for a reply, Quentin shepherded Ryou closer to the fireplace. He pushed one of the wingbacked chairs nearer the hearth and guided Ryou to sit in it. "Where's that blasted Bruno gotten off to, anyway? Bruno!"

The servant appeared in the doorway, scowling at the summons. "You want somethin' else, Mr. Collins?" He sounded as if he'd rather pull out his own fingernails than do anything for Quentin, no matter what it was.

"Bring me a blanket and some dry clothes for Mr. Bakura. I'm sure my cousin won't mind if we borrow something suitable from his wardrobe."

Bruno didn't look as if he agreed with Quentin's assessment, but he didn't argue the point. With another resentful glower in Quentin's direction, Bruno shuffled upstairs, presumably to fetch the requested items.

"I- I'm all right, really," Ryou protested, though he couldn't seem to stop shivering. He tucked his hands underneath his arms to stop himself from twisting his fingers into the fabric of his jumper. "I suppose I got a bit chilled from the rain, that's all."

"Yes, I'm sure that's it," Quentin agreed. He sent another glare at the staircase, as if directing it at the absent servant, then turned to peer out the windows across the room. Lightning flashed outside, followed by a rumble of thunder close on its heels. "I think we're going to be here for a while. It doesn't appear as if the storm is going to let up any time soon."

"Will your cousin mind very much? We did barge in without warning." Ryou leaned closer to the warmth of the fire. It did little to drive away the chill his memories of the Millennium Ring had brought. "Mr. Bruno certainly seems to think we shouldn't be here."

"No, no. Pay no attention to Bruno's rudeness. We'll be fine."

Before Ryou could argue, Bruno returned, stomping down the stairs with a look on his face that seemed to indicate he'd heard Quentin's assessment and was holding back a rebuttal by sheer force of will. He thrust an armful of cloth at Quentin, smirking when the startled man almost dropped the sudden burden.

"Your blanket and dry clothing, Mr. Collins," Bruno said, and vanished back up the stairs before either of them could thank him -- or demand something else of him. There was a distinct air of 'and I hope you choke on it' trailing in the wake of his departure.

Quentin sighed. "I suppose it's too much to ask for service with a smile." Shaking his head, he sorted through the pile of cloth and handed Ryou a thick woolen blanket. "Take off that damp sweater and then tuck yourself under this, Ryou."

While Ryou did as bidden, Quentin finished sorting the clothing that the servant had brought.

"Hmm, you and Cousin Barnabas are about the same height, so these should fit you well enough," he said, setting aside a pair of dark trousers and a dress shirt, both of which looked as if they cost more than all of the clothing Ryou had brought on this trip put together. "I'll take these and go into the other room to change. You get into those dry clothes and get warm, all right? I'll only be a minute."

Somewhat reluctantly, Ryou did as he was told. While he was grateful to be out of his rain-soaked clothes, he felt awkward borrowing clothing from a stranger -- and one who wasn't even there to give his permission for the loan, at that. Still, once he'd shed his damp shirt and buttoned on the dry one, he couldn't deny that he felt at least fifty percent better. He tossed his wet clothes over the banister and wrapped the heavy blanket around his shoulders.

A moment later, now attired in his own set of borrowed clothes, Quentin stepped back into the room. He cast his gaze over Ryou and then gave an approving nod. "Feel better?"

Warmth was finally seeping back into Ryou's bones and his hands were steadier. He nodded.

"Good." Quentin wandered over to the windows and peered outside. "Looks like the storm's getting stronger. We may be here all night."

"Oh, dear."

Quentin shot him a quick smile over one shoulder. "Don't worry. This house is plenty big enough to accomodate a pair of overnight guests."

"I suppose. I just feel bad about imposing on your cousin like this."

"Hey, Barnabas is your family, too. And he was fond of Amy -- He'll be glad to meet you." Turning his back on the window, Quentin studied Ryou thoughtfully for a moment. "I expect Cousin Barnabas will be returning home soon, and then he can tell you all this himself."

"You're certain he won't mind?" Despite his best efforts to put his doubts aside, Ryou wasn't entirely convinced. He'd only met one person in his lifetime who was that accomodating, and even Yugi Mutou might have been thrown for a loop if he came home to find an uninvited stranger sitting in his living room and wearing his clothes.

"Quite sure." Flashing another quick smile, Quentin finally left off his vigil by the window and settled into the wingback chair opposite Ryou's. "While we wait, why don't you tell me more about what you've been up to in... Domino City, was it?"

"There's not much to tell." Ryou toyed with the cuff of his borrowed shirt sleeve. He had never been comfortable talking about himself. He shrugged. "I mostly just went to school."

"What about those gaming tournaments you mentioned before?"

Ryou sighed and focused on the fire. "Unless you're familiar with the game and know something of the culture surrounding it, nothing I can tell you will make much sense. And I never actually won any of the tournaments that I was in, so..."

"Hm. Well, I guess I'll have to brush up on this 'Duel Monsters', so I'll understand when you tell me all about your games." The sincerity in Quentin's voice removed any idea that he might be mocking Ryou. He sounded genuinely interested. "What about your other hobbies? Friends?"

"My friends... Well." Ryou drew the blanket tighter about himself. "If you look into Duel Monsters, you'll find my friend Yugi." He glanced up to find Quentin watching him, a neutral expression in his eyes. "Yugi Mutou, the King of Games."  
  
"That's quite a nickname."

"He's still the reigning world champion at Duel Monsters, as far as I know. He earned the title a couple of times over, really." Ryou looked away again. His back was to the windows, but he could hear the rain lashing against the glass. A nearby flash of lightning cast strange, twisted shadows into the room. "Most of my friends were involved in the game one way or another."

A smile tugged at the corners of Ryou's mouth. While he might not have pleasant associations with most of his card game related memories, the friends that he had made during that time were a bright spot. Knowing that Quentin was still waiting to hear more, Ryou added, "My other hobbies... Well, I used to make miniatures, dioramas, of fantasy settings. Castles and magical creatures, that sort of thing. And I had a fleeting obsession with the occult. Nothing too creepy, mostly just tarot cards and such." He gave a self-deprecating laugh. "I was a weird kid."

"Boy, did you come to the right place."

Ryou jerked, startled by the unexpected voice growling near his ear. He twisted around in time to see Bruno retreating from where he had leaned over the back of Ryou's chair. Quentin shot the man a disapproving scowl.

"Keep your opinions to yourself," Quentin warned, his voice sharp.

"Yeah, yeah." Grumbling under his breath, Bruno bustled about the room, flicking on the lamps, straightening things seemingly at random and darting hateful glances at the two of them. "Sun's goin' down soon, Mr. Collins."

"I'm aware." Quentin made a bit of a production of settling more comfortably into his chair and crossing his legs at the ankles, the picture of insouciance. "I'm equally aware that it's still raining buckets, and that I have no intention of going out into a downpour. Especially with it lightning every few minutes."

As if to underscore Quentin's point, lightning flashed outside the window, followed by a deafening crack of thunder.

Despite his discomfort with imposing on the hospitality of a still absent (and unwitting) host, Ryou found he agreed whole-heartedly with Quentin's assertion. The thought of going out into a cold downpour -- with the added bonus of a possible death by lightning strike -- was not a salubrious one.

Quentin sighed. "Look, Bruno, get it into your thick skull -- we're staying. Go on about your business and stop harrassing us, or I'll inform Cousin Barnabas of your atrocious behavior."

Although Bruno glared as if he'd like to set Quentin on fire with his mind, he nevertheless retreated once more, leaving them alone in the drawing room. Quentin snorted, then stood and wandered over to the window to peer out at the storm.

"Does it look as if the weather's improving any?" Ryou asked. He shrugged off the blanket and rose, one hand on the back of his chair.

A massive flash of light, forks of purple lightning whip-cracking across the sky, answered him and put paid to that hope. Thunder boomed, close enough this time to rattle the panes of glass in the windows.

"We may be here all night," Quentin said, in the aftermath. He sounded surprisingly grim about it, considering his earlier attitude.

"Oh, no." Ryou's heart sank. "I really can't impose on your cousin like that..."

Quentin turned to face him. "Please don't worry about it, Ryou. Barnabas won't mind, and I'm certainly not going to let you go out into this storm from some misguided sense of propriety."

Resigning himself to remaining at the Old House for the time being, Ryou sighed and nodded. To take his mind off it, he said, "So, how exactly are you related to my mother? I don't think you've said."

Some complicated emotion flickered in Quentin's eyes, belied by his deliberately casual tone when he replied. "Oh, through her grandmother. One of my ancestors was Lenore Collins' father. You can just call me 'cousin', though. It's simpler."

"That does seem to be a bit of a catch-all title around here."

That startled a laugh out of Quentin. "Noticed that, have you? The Collins family tree has a lot of branches. Some of them get a bit... twisty. We find that 'cousin' works well for most familial relations that aren't parent, child, or sibling."

It kind of boggled Ryou's mind. His own family had always been a small one; just himself, his sister, and their parents. His paternal grandparents had died when he was too young to remember them. His mother rarely spoke of her own relatives, and Ryou had certainly never gotten to meet any of them. The notion of having so many different relatives that it got complicated deciding what to call them all was one he had a lot of trouble wrapping his head around.

"Are there really so many Collins relatives to keep track of?" he asked.

"At the moment, there aren't that many of us in residence. Myself, Roger, Carolyn, and Barnabas. Roger's son David is in New York with his own family. They'll be here for the holidays, of course, and I hope you'll be here to meet them. Carolyn's daughter is traveling. I don't know if she has plans to grace us with her presence this year. Carolyn's son will probably show up any day now with his kids in tow, if he can pry them out of his ex-wife's hands. It'll be quite the full house."

"And... you're sure I won't be in the way?"

Quentin reached out and grasped Ryou's shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze. "Ryou, don't ever think you aren't welcome here. As long as I'm at Collinwood, I promise you'll always have a place here."

Feeling his eyes sting, Ryou blinked rapidly and looked down at his feet. He swallowed hard, but still couldn't find his voice. Finally, he managed to peek at Quentin through his bangs and hope his new-found "cousin" could read the gratitude in his eyes.

　

o0o

　

　

They had been at the Old House long enough for the grandfather clock in the entryway to chime the hour twice, and the storm showed no sign of letting up. When he said as much aloud, Quentin had agreed.

"I think may as well accept that we're here for the night." Quentin glanced around, as if expecting the manservant to be hovering nearby, then frowned when he didn't spot him. "I'll get Bruno to prepare a couple of the guest rooms for us."

Ryou bit back the automatic protest that sprung to his lips. He truly didn't want to be a bother. But, realistically, he saw no way to avoid staying here overnight. If it had simply been raining, he would have braved the walk back to Collinwood. But not only was lightning splitting the sky open every few minutes, the wind was howling around the corners of the house hard enough to rip branches from the trees. He had seen a hefty limb torn from the trunk of one of the great oaks and flung halfway across the lawn. Quentin had assured him that the risk of injury if they ventured outside was far greater than any small inconvenience they might inflict upon Barnabas Collins by forcing him to play host.

When shouting for the servant failed to produce results, Quentin wandered off to look for Bruno. Left to his own devices, Ryou stood before the windows and watched the storm rage. The inky writhing of the clouds reminded him uncomfortably of the featureless plains of the Shadow Realm, a place that still featured prominently in his nightmares. And yet, he found himself unable to look away from the tormented sky.

A warm hand on his shoulder startled Ryou from his uneasy reverie. Quentin frowned when their gazes met. "Sorry, didn't mean to spook you. Are you all right?"

"Just lost in thought." And happy enough to be rescued from it.

Quentin offered a small smile, just one corner of his mouth quirking up as he gestured toward the occasional table across the room. "I brought some tea, thought it would help warm us up."

Tea sounded wonderful to Ryou. He allowed Quentin to herd him over to the wingchairs and took the teacup he was offered. "Thank you."

The tea was hot and fragrant -- Earl Grey, redolent with bergamot oil -- and warmed the chill that had settled in Ryou's bones. He relaxed into his chair, hands cradling the heat close to his face so he could inhale the sweet fragrance. He could feel the tension slowly leaking from muscles that ached with how tightly he'd been holding himself. Even his bones seemed to ache. As the tension seeped out of him, his eyelids drooped to half-mast and his fingers went lax around the delicate antique china cup. He barely noticed when Quentin took the it from his slack grip.

"That's it," Quentin murmured, his voice sounding as if it were coming from far away, echoing faintly in time with the suddenly strobing light -- dim to bright to dim -- in the room. "Just relax, Ryou. Everything's going to be all right."

"What's...? Wha--?"

Ryou tried to sit up, tried to ask what was going on. But the light was dimming around him, the shadows at the edges of the room closing in with every leaden blink of his eyes. Finally, his lids were just too heavy to open again. And everything...

...f a _d e d_

t o

...

 **black**.

.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel as if I've been channeling the late Dan "Marilyn" Ross for this series, and especially this installment. ;) Sorry for the delay; there were computer problems and then I couldn't figure out how to get where I needed to be at the end. It hit me last night, so ta-da! Finished story. The big reveal got pushed back to the next story in the series, but that's how it needed to happen.


End file.
